(cut)

"I'll only leave after I've thrown this one back into the gutter where he belongs!" Lord Byerly grabbed two fistfuls of the front of Mr Turton's coat. Still, Mr Turton's face didn't move, he just looked at the idiot Lordling, his face set to neutral. He could do this all day, he'd done exactly so several times in the past. Knowing that the best way to get rid of a bullying upper class cretin was to not give him the reaction he craved. They usually got bored with him and instead took out their violent frustrations by decimating the poor local wildlife.

Lady Morgan grabbed Lord Byerly's arm. She pulled at him, trying to get him to release his grip from her butler.

"Leave him be!" she shouted. Lord Byerly jerked his arm, trying to shake her grip on him off. His elbow slammed bluntly into her face. She fell back, stopping herself from falling to the floor by catching hold of the fire mantle to the side of her. She moved her hands in front of her, cupping her face, then pulled them away slowly, revealing a swollen bleeding lip and bloody hands. Both men watched silently. Lord Byerly released his hold on Mr Turton and took a step back, unsure of what to do next. His eyes widened and his mouth became a shocked 'o'. He took a hesitant step towards Mrs Morgan.

"Gisella… it was an accident… I didn't mean…"

She took a step back and cut off his sentence. 

"Get out!" she hissed. "Mr Turton, would you please make him leave," she said as she turned tear filled eyes towards her butler.

Mr Turton and Lord Byerly exchanged glances. Mr Turton's face was red with anger, his lips were pressed together tightly and his eyes narrowed. He was livid. How dare the man! He couldn't ignore his actions any longer. His patient stoic stance had not worked. It had only resulted in his Mistress becoming a victim of the Lord's violence. I should have acted sooner, just ejecting the man from the house as soon as he arrived. I'm a stupid stubborn fool! he accused himself. My reliance on old tactics has caused her to be hurt! He stepped towards the errant Lord, intending to drag him out of the house as his Lady had ordered. Lord Byerly was forced to back away, hands held out in front of him, in the face of such anger. Mr Turton advanced on his prey, his face promised dire consequences for failure to obey Lady Morgan's order. His brow furrowed, his lips pressed together, his eyes flashed, a vision of rage.

Lord Byerly changed tack. Stopping his backwards flee and taking a stand. Mr Turton paused his advance. Let's see what he tries now, he thought.

The Lord flung a pitiful excuse for a punch at him. The poorly aimed blow was one that Mr Turton easily ducked away from. Excellent! he thought. His look changed, his brow was still furrowed, his eyes still glinted with anger, but his mouth transformed, altering from an angry pressing of lips to a tooth baring, lupine smile.

The first punch landed squarely on the side of the Lord's stupid face, taking him by surprise and sending him staggering a short step backwards. 

All the hated hours of training that the young Amos Turton was forced to endure from his stern father had, at last, paid off. His father had not wanted a weakling son who couldn't defend himself. Muscle memory of countless despised lessons took over.

His next punch, aimed lower, was a blow to his opponents guts, bending him over. The third hit landed under his chin, a perfectly landed uppercut, sending the Lord flying backwards tumbling over the back of the sofa, and crashing into the table that held the decanter. 

Mr Turton unclenched his fists and flexed his fingers, his anger dissipating with each outwards stretch of his digits. Truthfully, he loathed having to resort to brutish violence like this, but he felt justified in its use this time. The man had inflicted pain, he was owed some back. He pulled his waistcoat down sharply, straightening his attire, his calm restored. Then he stalked over to where the stunned Lord was lying among the remnants of the table. He leant over him and dragged him back up by his jacket lapels, forcing the Lord to scrabble upright. Mr Turton pulled the now struggling, but temporarily stunned Lord out of the living room, along the hallway, towards the front door.